


Let me go home, The Winchesters

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Dean Winchester/Reader, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Without you knowing, Sam and Dean save the universe with a stupid plan that neither of them make it out of. This time its for good.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester & You, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/You, Sam Winchester/You
Kudos: 7





	Let me go home, The Winchesters

The boys hadn't told you their stupid plan. They hadn't told you because they knew it was stupid, and were well aware this was something they may not come back from. That's why they didn't want you involved. At least their plan worked. Once again the world was saved, but this time at the cost of the Winchester's lives. 

They weren't coming back this time. But you didn't know, not yet. 

So when the door of the bunker swung open and you turned to see Cas walking down the stairs, eyes red and puffy from crying, your gut twisted with dread at the unthinkable. 

"Cas?" You stood from your chair, hurrying out of the library and to the stairs, meeting him at the bottom. A lump grew in your throat, but you swallowed and pushed it away. You didn't want to ask, somehow you already knew the answer. "Where are the boys?" 

He looked up from the floor, new tears beginning to well in his eyes. "They aren't coming," He rasped and his eyes cast away from you, full of guilt and shame. "I'm sorry," 

Tears started to roll down your cheeks, sobs racking your body as you fell forwards and into Castiel's chest, clutching onto his coat. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. 

You both stood there for what felt like hours before you cried yourself to sleep and he carried you back to your room, draping a blanket over you before he left you to rest. You woke in the middle of the night and immediately climbed out of bed, grabbing Dean's pillow and leather jacket from his room and carrying them to Sam's, where you slept for the rest of the night.

He stayed with you in the bunker for a few weeks, before one morning, you woke up to find him gone. For some reason, it didn't faze you. In some way you'd expected him to leave too. Everyone left at some point, and you'd been expecting him to leave too. And he did. 

You stayed in the bunker for a few more days, mainly in the garage, working on your old pickup truck that'd been wrecked while on a hunt. The bunker was too quiet, and it didn't smell the same. The familiar scents of gunpowder and cinnamon was fading, and you missed Dean's goofy jokes and Sam bitching at him for leaving food in the fridge after it'd gone bad. 

Picking a wrench up from your toolbox, you turned towards your truck. What was the point in fixing it up? You weren't hunting and there were other vehicles to use if you really needed them. Dropping it back in the box, you turned away but a tugging in your heart made you stop and listen. 

Something pulled you towards the back of the garage and the more steps you took, the more you began to understand. You were led to the impala. Gripping onto the tarp that laid over it, you ripped it off and let it crumple to the floor. Letting your fingers run over the hood, you almost felt satisfied. "Hey, Baby,"

It happened fast, you didn't know why, but you knew exactly what you were doing. Rushing around your room, you packed your duffel with as much clothing as you could fit and got dressed. You slip on Dean's leather jacket and grab Sam's computer, as well as a picture off your nightstand. 

Going back to the impala and getting in, you set the picture on the dashboard. It's a picture of all three of you. Bobby had taken it years ago when you were still bright-eyed and ready to conquer the world, but unaware you someday really would. Sammy still had his bangs and Dean didn't look half as burdened. 

Turning the key and listening to the familiar purr, tears sprung to your eye as you tore out of the garage and down the road. Giving a soft laugh, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand before turning up the radio. The last tape that'd been playing started again, and you instantly recognized it as "Wanted Dead or Alive" by Bon Jovi.

This only made the tears roll faster down your cheeks. They knew they weren't going to make it back, that would've been the only reason Dean would've played Bon Jovi. That's the only reason he's ever played that song. 

"You bitch," You said, but it came out as another laugh as you glanced at the picture, shaking your head. "Should've taken me with you,"

You drove for miles, only stopping at a gas station to fill up the impala and grab food. Luckily, you found a case in the newspaper. A woman with her throat ripped out and blood drained. "Good," you said to yourself, swinging back into the car and closing the door. "Just what I need," 

You continued to live like this. Case after case, one motel after another, and fast food. There was little time between, but you did make exceptions. You'd stop to see Jody and her girls, or Garth and his family. Even Cas came to see you whenever he got the chance. 

They could see the difference in you. Mainly the small things. How you avoided apple pie, and always kept a picture of the boys in your pocket. But mostly they noticed how the light had gone from your eyes, and even when you smiled, there was a lurking sadness. 

Of course you learned to let go a bit, and cried less. But you still missed them and never a day went by that you didn't think of them. On birthdays you drowned yourself in booze, and around holidays you were always working cases or 'too busy" to take the time off. Truly, you just didn't want to give yourself time to think.

Even when you didn't want to feel anything, you still liked to feel good. Feel like you were making a difference. Hunting did that for you. Every person you saved felt like a point-- toward what, you didn't know, but it didn't matter. 

Weeks turned to months and then in the blink of an eye, two years had gone by since the boys were gone. You'd excepted they were gone for good. You were okay with it. It hurt a little less now, and you could get through the week without crying. 

You'd been on a simple case when it'd happened. It was fairly routine. A werewolf had stepped out of line and was killing people. It hadn't taken but a day to find and put the wolf down. You'd been ready to leave but a second sprung upon you, the first werewolf's mate. Her claws dug into your stomach, and you let out a blood curdling scream, before driving a knife through her chest. 

Getting up, you didn't bother to grab your gun as you stumbled out of the old barn and towards the car. You collapsed onto the front seat of the impala, gasping for air. You couldn't bring yourself to call for Cas, mainly because you weren't sure there was anything he could do. 

Black splotches were now clouding your vision and you could feel the sticky blood coating your hands and the seat of the impala. You couldn't think straight, but still a string of words managed to come out. "Let me go home to them," You whispered once, before repeating it over and over in a pleading mantra. 

The world faded, and so did your pain. You could feel your body again, but were too afraid to open your eyes. 

What if you'd gone to hell? You quickly ruled that as unlikely considering you weren't being chained up or stabbed. Dean had told you parts of his time downstairs. You'd helped him through the nightmares when they were at their worst. Sam too. You were their rock, just as much as they were yours. 

Finally opening your eyes, you find yourself staring at a white door, one of many down a long hallway. Heaven's hall. you knew this. On the door is a silver plaque, specially engraved. 

The Winchesters. 

It makes you smile, and a foreign warmth spreads throughout your body. You didn't even share their last name, but you were still considered a Winchester. Grabbing the door handle, you twist it and push the door open. 

Stepping in and turning to look around, you find yourself back in the bunker. You walk forwards and close your eyes, breathing in the familiar scents. Cinnamon and gunpowder are the most prominent. 

Opening your eyes again, you look down at your stomach where the werewolf had gotten you. It was as if it had never happened. No blood, no pain, and Dean's leather jacket was unscathed, unlike it'd been when you were dying. 

"Boys?" You call out, starting down the stairs. "Sam? Dean?" 

Within moments, you heard the fast slapping of feet on the concrete floors before both the boys came barreling out of the kitchen. You hurried down the stairs and met them at the bottom, spreading your arms and launching into both of them. 

Tears welled in your eyes and you laughed as they fell, pulling back to look at both of them. "Hey!" 

Sam held your face with one of his hands, his tear brimmed eyes wide and full of shock. "(Y/n) what happened?" 

"Werewolf got me," You forced a small smile, glancing between the two boys. "But I got her too," 

Neither of them said anything, but looked away. 

"Hey," You said softly, looping an arm around both of their waists and leading them towards the kitchen. "Lets just get to the kitchen and have a beer like old times," 

"I can get behind that," Dean says with a soft chuckle, arm draped around your shoulders. 

"Good," Sighing softly in relief, you nodded. "I'm just glad to be home,"


End file.
